Third Person's POV
The soft murmur of conversation lingered in the Queen's Lounge as sunlight streamed through the high stained-glass windows, painting the floor in ribbons of amber and rose.
Talia had long since forgotten the stiffness that usually marked her formal visits. Her laughter — light, unguarded — filled the golden air. Across from her, Rhenessa watched with quiet amusement, her violet eyes bright with genuine interest.
"I must admit," Rhenessa said, swirling her cup of tea, "Solara is far warmer than I expected — not just in its sunlight, but in its spirit. It seems to mirror its queen."
Talia blushed softly, tucking a loose strand of pink hair behind her ear. "You flatter me, Empress."
"Do I?" Rhenessa's smile deepened. "I think I merely state the truth."
Talia looked down into her teacup, hiding the small smile that tugged at her lips. It had been so long since she'd spoken to someone who didn't treat her like fragile glass. There was something grounding about Rhenessa — her voice like the low hum of thunder, her words both weighty and tender.
"It's been some time since I've hosted tea in this lounge," Talia admitted after a moment, glancing toward the window. "I used to hold small gatherings here every week for noblewomen and scholars. But as of late, I… haven't had the heart."
Rhenessa tilted her head, curiosity flickering behind her eyes. "And what gave you the heart again, today?"
Talia hesitated, then met her gaze. "Perhaps I just wanted to feel sunlight again."
The words lingered — quiet, honest, and far more intimate than she'd intended.
Rhenessa's expression softened, something almost reverent in her look. "Then I'm honored to be here for it."
⸻
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the palace, King Caelen strode through the eastern corridor, the echo of his boots sharp against marble.
He hadn't intended to leave his study — not until a flicker of unease began to gnaw at him. It was unlike Talia to vanish from her routine. Her entire life had been bound to structure and duty since their marriage. The thought that she might be somewhere… else unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
As he turned the corner, a familiar voice stopped him.
"Your Majesty," Stella said smoothly, curtsying as she passed, a knowing glint in her eyes. "I was just on my way to see if Her Majesty required anything further for her tea."
Caelen slowed. "Tea?"
"Yes, sire," Stella replied, all politeness and faint mischief. "Her Majesty is in the Queen's Lounge, entertaining the Empress of Noctyra."
Caelen's expression froze. "The Empress?"
Stella nodded. "They've been together for some time now. Her Majesty insisted on preparing the tea herself — quite radiant today, if I may say so." She smiled sweetly, then added, "It's good to see her spirits lifted, don't you think?"
Her tone was innocent — but her eyes betrayed the faintest hint of satisfaction. Stella had always been fiercely loyal to Talia, and though she kept her words proper, Caelen caught the edge beneath them.
He gave a curt nod, dismissing her with a gesture before turning sharply down the corridor.
Radiant. Spirited. Laughing with another sovereign — and not just any sovereign, but one powerful enough to challenge Solara's influence.
He told himself his irritation was political, a matter of propriety. But as he neared the golden doors of the lounge and heard the faint melody of Talia's laughter from within, something deeper twisted in his chest — something raw and entirely undeserved.
Jealousy.
….
The polished doors of the Queen's Lounge stood slightly ajar, letting the scent of hibiscus tea and sweet cakes drift into the hall. Caelen slowed, his hand brushing the gilded handle, but he didn't push it open — not yet.
Through the gap, his gaze fell on Talia.
She sat with her back to the door, sunlight kissing her shoulders and hair until her pink strands gleamed like woven rose quartz. Her posture was relaxed, her face bright with laughter — the sound of it light, musical, and painfully unfamiliar to him.
Rhenessa sat across from her, her deep green hair spilling over one shoulder like a silken vine, her violet eyes sharp yet softened by amusement. The Empress leaned forward slightly, saying something too low for Caelen to hear, and Talia's laughter broke again, softer this time — genuine.
It struck him like a blade between the ribs.
He had not seen that light in Talia's face in months — not since before the miscarriage, before the silence and distance that had grown between them like an unspoken wall. And now, somehow, a foreign ruler had coaxed it from her with ease.
His jaw tightened.
It shouldn't have mattered. It didn't matter.
And yet, the longer he stood there — watching Talia's lips curve, the faint blush rise in her cheeks — the more his pulse thudded with something far less reasonable than politics.
He couldn't decide if he wanted to drag Rhenessa out of the room or beg Talia to look at him like that again.
A shadow crossed his expression as he finally pressed the door open.
The soft chatter broke instantly.
"Your Majesty," Talia said, her tone polite but cautious, every inch of her golden composure snapping back into place. "We weren't expecting you."
Rhenessa rose smoothly, dipping her head just enough to be respectful, though her gaze lingered with quiet, unshaken confidence. "King Caelen. A pleasure, as always."
Caelen's eyes flicked briefly to her, but only long enough to acknowledge her presence before settling back on Talia. "I was told you'd left your study. I wanted to be sure you were… well."
Her lips curved faintly — the smallest of smiles, brittle around the edges. "As you can see, I'm quite well."
Rhenessa's brows lifted slightly, reading the unspoken tension with ease. "Your Queen has been a most gracious hostess. The warmth of Solara extends far beyond its sun."
Talia met her gaze, a spark of gratitude glimmering there. "And I've enjoyed our time immensely, Empress. It's been far too long since I've had company that truly listens."
Caelen felt that sting, sharp and clean. His fingers flexed at his side.
"Yes," he said finally, his voice smooth but strained. "My queen is known for her kindness."
Rhenessa's lips twitched — not in mockery, but as though she'd heard more than his words revealed. "Indeed," she murmured.
An elegant silence followed, heavy with what none of them dared name.
Caelen's gaze lingered on Talia one last time — that glow about her, that quiet steadiness that had once made him feel invincible — and then he turned on his heel. "I won't keep you from your tea," he said curtly, his tone betraying none of the heat clawing under his calm.
The doors closed behind him with a soft thud.
Rhenessa exhaled slowly, her gaze still fixed where he had stood. "He doesn't enjoy being ignored, does he?"
Talia's lips curved — faint, controlled, and a little sad. "No," she said softly. "He never did."
Rhenessa tilted her head, studying her. "Does it bother you that he came?"
Talia hesitated, gaze drifting to the empty doorway. "It shouldn't," she said after a long pause. "But it does. He still finds ways to… unsettle me."
"Men like him often do," Rhenessa replied, her tone lowering. "They fear losing what they've taken for granted."
Talia blinked, looking up at her. There was understanding — deep and quiet — in the Empress's gaze, the kind only born from heartbreak.
For the first time in weeks, Talia allowed herself to smile — not out of politeness, but out of gratitude. "Thank you… for staying."
Rhenessa's answering smile was slow, deliberate. "I wasn't ready to leave."
The warmth between them lingered, sweet and dangerous as sunlight through crystal.
⸻
Later that Evening
Caelen stalked the palace halls in silence, the echo of their laughter still haunting his thoughts.
He shouldn't care. He had Maris now — the woman who had soothed his pride when grief had hollowed him out, who had whispered that he was still wanted when Talia's silence became unbearable.
And yet, as he'd stood in that doorway, he'd felt the familiar pull — that quiet, infuriating gravity Talia carried like sunlight clinging to her skin.
His mind betrayed him with flashes of memory — her soft laughter on their wedding night, her sleepy smile in the early dawns, the way she used to lean into his shoulder when the world became too heavy.
For a brief, shameful moment, he missed her.
He rubbed his face, jaw tightening. Fool.
Maris awaited him in his chambers, her smile warm, her body soft against his side as she murmured about their child — his child. And yet, when he closed his eyes, the image that rose to mind wasn't hers.
It was Talia's — glowing with that impossible light that refused to die, no matter how he tried to snuff it out.